Oberon Boxed Set (Books 1-3) Welcome to Oberon

by P. G. Forte

  “You see? It’s just like I said.” Joey beat the eggs viciously. “Twenty years ago you insisted on seeing Nick as the villain, and her as his innocent victim. And that’s still how you see it. He’s your nephew! You should be on his side. But instead—”

  “I don’t know that I’d say villain, but twenty years ago Nick was at fault, yes.” Joe shrugged. “What he did was wrong. That’s all there is to it. What else was there to see?”

  “How about that she set him up? That it was all part of some twisted game she was playing. That she—” Joey broke off abruptly and carefully poured the eggs into a pan; watching the thick golden stream as it spread and pooled on the Teflon, then nudging at the edges with a spatula as the eggs began to set. What was the point? He was never going to get his father to see reason. The older man had certain, set ideas about chivalry, and nothing would ever change that. And sometimes that just irritated the hell out of him.

  He took a sip of coffee, but he still didn’t trust himself to continue talking, so he occupied himself for several minutes more turning the bacon, slice by slice by slice, while emotions, volatile as the grease that bubbled and snapped in the skillet, seethed inside him.

  “It was always a game to her, Dad. It still is. I mean, what’s she doing here, anyway? She’s got money. She had a career down there in Los Angeles, or somewhere. She certainly doesn’t need that big house. Hell, she was planning to sell it and go back to LA until she got her hooks into Nick again. According to Lucy.”

  “I’m sure that’s just how your sister phrased it, too,” his father answered with dry humor.

  “Ah, Lucy’s another one who doesn’t want to open her eyes and see what’s right in front of her,” Joey said. His sister was as bad as their cousin. Too easily taken in by Scout’s convenient lies.

  “She broke his heart once Dad. And mark my words, if he gives her the chance, she’ll do it again.”

  “Well... I remember he did seem pretty upset when he found out she’d been sent away,” Joe conceded. “I’ll give you that much. But if anyone’s playing games right now, it looks to me like it’s Nick.”

  Joey had turned back to the stove and began cutting thick slices off a loaf of whole grain bread from the local bakery. “I don’t know why you’d say something like that. I’m telling you, nothing’s changed. He still thinks he’s in love with her.”

  “Yeah? So how come when he finally showed up for his party last night, he had to bring an old girlfriend along with him?”

  Girlfriend? Forgetting about the bread, Joey stared in consternation at his father. “Who?”

  “Oh, whatsername. That woman he dated after he and Lauren split up. You remember, she used to work with him. Darla, or Daria, or—”

  “Darcy? Darcy Boyle?”

  “Yeah, that’s the one.”

  Nick and Darcy? No way. “But she – what’s she doing back in town?”

  “Visiting.” The single word dripped with scorn. His father leaned back in his chair, folded his arms over his chest, and regarded him challengingly.

  “Visiting... Nick?” Man, that was too much to hope for.

  “Told us she’d spent the whole day with him, even though he was supposed to be working. What would you think?”

  “Well, I’ll be damned.” Joey couldn’t stop the smile that lit up his face. “I will definitely have to get the scoop on this from Nick.” He took two plates out of the cabinet and began to pile the food on them. “Shoot. This could be the best news I’ve had in months.”

  His father snorted disgustedly. “I’m glad someone’s happy about it. But you won’t be able to ask Nick anything today. It seems he and this Darcy are gonna be too busy working to make it to your sister’s brunch.”

  “Jesus.” Joey shook his head in wonder. “You think maybe he’s finally come to his senses?”

  Joe scowled. “Well, if that’s what you want to call it. He’s picked a fine time to do it, that’s all I can say. The wedding’s in two weeks, if you remember.”

  Maybe, Joey thought, suddenly hopeful, or…maybe not. “What can I tell you, Dad? Better late than never.”

  * * *

  “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you.”

  Marsha let the words of the reading wash over her as she breathed in the incense-scented air and watched the energy shimmer all around her. She knew how Lucy, seething in the seat beside her, was interpreting the words of the gospel. Stubborn as ever, nothing was going to dissuade her from the belief that Marsha had somehow arranged the reading to speak directly to her mother and her aunt and their relationship with Scout. But really, the words could just as readily apply to any one of them. To her, to Lucy or Scout, even to Bob.

  “Give to everyone who asks of you, and from the one who takes what is yours do not demand it back.”

  Scout, sitting on her other side, had once again retreated behind the same impenetrable psychic shield she’d had when she first arrived in town last summer. Marsha felt bad about that. She was pretty sure that was at least partly her doing. She’d felt Scout retreating, increment by tiny increment, ever since the tea incident yesterday morning.

  I know it has caffeine... but I promise you a few sips won’t hurt anything.

  Well, but what was she supposed to do, or say? The woman had been in shock, after all.

  “Do to others as you would have them do to you”

  Hopefully, in a few weeks, this would all be over. Scout and Nick would be married. Maybe then Scout wouldn’t feel she needed to hide anymore. Not that she could hide for very much longer.

  “Stop judging and you will not be judged. Stop condemning and you will not be condemned. Forgive and you will be forgiven. Give and gifts will be given to you: a good measure, packed together, shaken down, and overflowing will be poured into your lap.”

  Okay, so maybe the reading was meant for one of them, Marsha conceded as they resumed their seats. A few of those last verses sounded a whole lot like they were meant for her.

  As soon as Bob launched into his homily, Marsha purposely tuned him out. She liked Bob well enough; she respected his passion, if not always his viewpoint. And over the years, they’d had plenty of stimulating theological debates. But she had a feeling if she listened to what he had to say today, it would just make her angry, and she’d end up saying something she’d regret. And then they would have the scene she’d promised Lucy she wasn’t going to make.

  She’d already made too many scenes, and said way too many things that she regretted – just in the last day, alone.

  She thought about the scene last night with Sam. Not that it had been a scene, really. Just one incredible kiss. And she sure wasn’t regretting that, although maybe she should. She had never been kissed like that before, and she wondered if she wasn’t going to find out it had been a whole lot easier to do without something if you never knew what you were missing.

  Which would be just her luck, wouldn’t it?

  Just as it seemed to be her luck that the first interesting man she’d met in years and years was only going to be in town for a few short weeks. It wasn’t fair! The universe had a sick sense of humor where she was concerned, that much was clear.

  The homily had ended and the congregation stood to recite the creed. Marsha wrapped her shawl around her a little more tightly. This was the one part of the Mass she really didn’t like. Other than the occasional political proselytizing that went on during some of the homilies, of course. She caught Lucy’s eye as they both stood in silence, and she smiled. It was probably a whole lot easier to recite words you didn’t believe in, if you never thought about their meaning. At least, most of the congregation seemed to find it so. But she just couldn’t do it. Each line of the prayer served to show her how far she had traveled away from some of the beliefs she’d been raised on.

  Not that it mattered, to either her or to God. And she figured it was nobody else’s business. But there were still times wh
en it made her feel almost homesick.

  * * *

  It had been awhile since he’d been here, but nothing much had changed. Nothing, and everything. Nick had gone out onto the balcony of Paige’s condo to smoke. Newports. Paige’s brand. He’d bought the pack this morning on his way into work, and he planned to quit again, just as soon as this case was finished. But in the meantime...

  He drew in a deep drag of mentholated smoke and shook his head. What kind of pervert first thought to combine tobacco and peppermint, anyway, he wondered. And why would someone choose to smoke them? At least the damn things had nicotine.

  “That’s it, Nick. Concentrate on the really important things. That’ll get the job done.” The little voice from yesterday had come back to taunt him. He ignored it and thought about the scenery instead.

  The day was sunny and warm, and on the terrace below him he could see several of the building’s residents sunning themselves around the pool. It had always amazed him how few people actually ever used that pool, even in the hottest weather. Yet they’d all paid big money just to have it sit there, sparkling in the sunlight like a huge turquoise gem.

  The balcony was sparsely furnished. Just a tiny hibachi, half a dozen dead plants and a small green table and chair set that Paige had sworn was a replica of the tables and chairs found in all the city parks in Paris. Nick had often wondered how she could be so sure of that. She’d never been there, but then again, neither had he, so their arguments on the subject had all been pointless and short lived. Rather like their affair itself.

  Or like the plants. Paige had the brownest thumb of anyone he’d ever known. She couldn’t have grown cactus in a desert. Not that it ever stopped her from trying, though. Every few months she’d go on a mad buying spree, arrange a new bunch of guaranteed hard-to-kill houseplants around her condo, and leave ‘em there to die.

  Shit. He had to stop thinking like this. He was here to do a job, after all.

  “Yeah, about time you remembered—” he tuned out the rest.

  Actually, he reflected, as he stubbed out the half-smoked cigarette in her ashtray and turned to go back inside, the job here was pretty much done. They’d come, they’d seen, they’d photographed, and they’d already packed up most of what they’d be bringing back to the station. Her computer, for one thing. Her whole life was stored in that machine. Every appointment, every lead, copies of every story she’d ever filed, as well as a bunch she’d never finished. And a journal in which he’d never known her to miss making a daily entry.

  The only problem was, without her password, he’d need to find some hacker to break the code and unlock her files. And, since Oberon was not exactly overrun with computer experts, that was likely going to take some time.

  He was just about to open the sliding glass door when Ryan Henderson forestalled him.

  “Hey. Can I talk to you for a minute, Nick?” Ryan joined him on the balcony and carefully closed the door behind him. He was using a slightly guarded tone that put all of Nick’s senses on alert, “I uh, found something that I think you might want to have a look at. Before it goes down to the station.”

  “Oh, yeah? What’d you get?” Nick looked at the box in Ryan’s hands. It was an ordinary green plastic file box, the kind most people used to store photos or receipts or bank statements. She wouldn’t have kept anything connected to her work in something like that. And he already knew he wasn’t going to find a list of passwords and PIN numbers in it. Things like that Paige would’ve had committed to memory. So whatever this was, it had to be personal.

  And, oh shit, given the look on the other man’s face, that could not be a good thing.

  He opened the box. As he’d half-expected, it was filled with memorabilia. Letters and photographs, a few old newspaper clippings, and a manila accordion file that bore a name almost as familiar as his own.

  He glanced quickly at Ryan, but the other man was leaning against the railing, gazing down at the deserted pool; a placid, perfectly neutral expression on his face. A good man to have around. Nick set the box down on the table and uncoiled the string from around the two paper discs that kept the file closed. Inside he found letters, several surveillance reports, duplicate copies of various legal documents, including a birth certificate, and photos. Lots of photos. Years’ worth of photos.

  “Right. Thanks, Ryan.” Nick cleared his throat and nodded through the ringing, red haze that threatened to impair both sight and hearing. “I’ll take care of this.”

  Ryan nodded and turned away from the railing. “Right. Well. See you back at the station then.”

  He didn’t really expect he’d ever want a new partner, Nick thought, with the one part of his mind that had managed to remain disengaged; but if he ever did, he could do worse than someone like Henderson.

  And he owed him for this. No question.

  But only a small, small part of his brain was thinking anything at all. The rest was a mass of raw, screaming fury. Talk about your fuckin’ goddamn hypocrites! That lying, cheating son-of-a-bitch!

  His hands fumbled slightly as he thrust the file back into the box, but he barely noticed. He lit another cigarette, and briefly considered taking a match to the entire box. It would be easy enough to do, and he had a hunch it was exactly what Ryan expected he would do. But that had never been his way. The truth was often messy and unpleasant, but ignoring it had never solved anything. Still, the box was going in the trunk of his car. It could stay there until he had a chance to examine all the contents of that file. Until he had time to figure out how to handle a situation he never in a million years thought he’d have to tackle.

  But right now, that could wait. Right now, he was just gonna get in his car and drive; hit the coast and put a little distance between himself and the rest of Oberon. Let the speed and the landscape work its usual miracle on his head. He needed to think, he needed to get clear, and he needed to get back in control. And that was still the best way he knew, to do it.

  “Nick...” The little voice was just a whisper now, faintly pleading. But he wouldn’t even listen.

  Shut the fuck up! he thought savagely. Shit. If Paige wasn’t already dead, he’d be pretty close right now to wanting to kill her himself. Secrets and lies. Seems like everyone had ‘em. The most dangerous things in the world.

  It wasn’t often that he found himself so totally caught off-guard, but man, he sure hadn’t seen this one coming. It wasn’t every day that something happened to rock his world.

  Although, come to think of it... it sure as hell was starting to seem that way. Kinda made him wonder what surprise tomorrow would bring.

  * * *

  Lucy watched with quiet resignation as her mother and aunt joined the line of communicants. She wasn’t receiving communion today. No doubt she’d get all sorts of grief for that later. She turned to look at the others. Scout and Kate, wearing looks of slightly bored abstraction, watched as the musicians resumed their places and prepared to begin the Communion hymn; but Marsha was watching the slow progress of the Communion lines. And she looked pissed.

  “So, what’re you ticked off about?” Lucy leaned close and asked before she’d taken a moment to consider how little she wanted to hear the answer right now.

  Marsha’s green eyes gleamed angrily as she gestured at the people filling the church around them. “Look at them all, Luce,” she said, “What’re they even doing here?”

  Oh, no. Not again? Lucy groaned. “Marsha, you promised.”

  “Half of them don’t believe in any of it, and the other half... well, they’re even worse! They do believe, and still they’re thinking of a thousand other things. You should hear some of the shit they’re thinking about. It’s like none of it means anything to them.”

  “What’s wrong?” Scout leaned in from the other side to ask, and Lucy groaned again. Great. Now they’d get the whole damn lecture.

  “The Body and Blood of Christ – what do they think that means?” Marsha was in full flight now. Lucy rolled her eye
s at Scout, who gazed back at her in helpless surprise. “Do they ever even consider the concepts? The holiness? The sanctity? They’re just like... sheep. Just following after one another, doing what they’ve always done, what they see everyone around them doing. Just a little stroll down the aisle once a week... and all the time thinking about where they’re going when Mass is over, what they’re having for dinner tonight, who they’re gonna—” Marsha’s voice was rising right along with her emotional level, and Lucy’d had enough. It was time to pull the plug.

  “Hey, d’you remember that time back in high school when Mary Ann Campanella started going off about how some girls had such nerve to go up and receive communion on Sunday morning, after everyone knew they’d spent Saturday night screwing their boyfriends?”

  As she’d expected, Marsha stopped mid-rant to glare at her. “And that’s exactly the kind of sanctimonious, small-minded trivialization I’m talking about.” But a moment later, a reluctant smile tugged at her lips. “Yeah, and I also remember how, when you heard about it, you went marching up to her to ask what made her think she knew what everyone else was up to. And was she spending all her Saturday nights peering into other people’s windows.”

  “Yeah,” Scout chimed in. “And then Lisa told Mary Ann that she shouldn’t be embarrassed, because it was a well-known fact that the only way some voyeurs could get off was by watching other people do it. That really pissed her off.”

  “No, that wasn’t what got her mad,” Marsha disagreed. “It was Lisa asking Mary Ann how much she’d pay her if Lisa let her stand inside her room and watch; that did it.”

  “Oh, shit, I’d forgotten that,” Lucy said, giggling slightly as she smiled at Marsha. “But I still think the best part was when you told Mary Ann that thinking unclean thoughts was just as serious a sin as fornication. And since she’d had more unclean thoughts than any of us had sex, her soul was in worse shape than anyone’s.”